Rebirth and Regret
by RhythmStickLunatic
Summary: I doubt many people will read this since I am one of the few insane people who actually enjoyed The Lord of the Flies, but no matter. I wrote this for extra credit in English class...It shows what happened to the boys after they left the island.


Rebirth and Regret

A burning sensation enveloped Ralph's body, and the sweet yet horrible smell of scorching flesh stung his nostrils. The crackling and popping sounds of the burning forest that surrounded him were being drowned out by a louder sound—a raspy, high-pitched whistling. The awful noise grew louder, and the burning intensified. The bright, menacing flashes of colour began to dim, but the fire appeared to remain constant. Louder and louder the sound became, but the heat now began to fade away. _I am dying,_ thought Ralph. That was the only way he could explain what was happening to him now. Presently, the whistling was all he could hear. The volume increased; louder, louder, louder!

Suddenly, without warning, the flames disappeared and turned into off-white nursery walls. He finally realized that the sound he had been hearing was the sound of his own screaming. His throat ached. Consciousness took over him now, and with it came the recognition of the annoyed children in the beds surrounding him. Ralph was now used to these nightmares. He believed they were triggered by the horrible memories from the island. Every night they were incredibly real, and every night they became harder to endure. The dreams always included fire. They caused him to wonder what it might have been like if he hadn't run from the bright orange murderer that furiously chased him through the forest that last day. He sometimes wished to share the Simon and Piggy's fates rather than live with the memories. The island scarred him as the boys had scarred the island.

He then rose from his comfortable twin-sized cot. It felt like sleeping on the clouds of heaven compared to his previous sleeping arrangement. He trudged, disoriented and shaken, out of the large white room and down the hall. He ignored the annoyed shouts of the other boys who shared his room. His family had to stay in a boarding house now; their previous home had been destroyed in the bombing. He made his way into the bathroom and flipped on the light. When he caught a glimpse of his reflection, his stomach churned. Although Ralph had been away from that dreadful island for nearly a month, he was still constantly startled to see his face so clean and his hair so neat and short.

After recovering from his quick jolt of shock, he simply regarded his reflection with a melancholy expression. Something about the face that stared back at him seemed wrong, but he could not place it. The sticks, dirt, and grime were missing from his no longer matted hair, his face was no longer stained a dingy brown, and his forehead was no longer creased with intense worry. His nails had started growing, and his hair no longer fell past his eyebrows. He looked unfamiliar, even to himself. He felt…wrong. The face he saw in the mirror belonged to a cherub or a painting, something unreal. It did not belong to him; he who had helped destroy a beautiful island, and who participated in the murder of an innocent boy. No, this innocent face did not belong to him. Not anymore.

. . .

The orange flame of Jack's hair gleamed in the sunlight, making him stick out amongst the crowd of children that eagerly surrounded him. The schoolyard buzzed with excitement that drifted through the air. Jack's hair was shorter now as well, and his freckles were finally visible again.

"Were you really the king?" asked a boy who was significantly taller than the rest of the children. He had Jack's same fiery hair.

"Oh, of course," Jack replied, looking down at the boy with an obvious air of superiority. "Who else would be? Some other boy tried to be chief in the beginning, but everyone on the island knew that _I_ was better." He smirked and grabbed at his shirt with his fists, puffing up his chest to make himself look tougher.

"What did you do with him?" asked the same boy.

"We got rid of him. Used him as bait," Jack said, smiling. The crowd gasped in unison. He was enjoying his story almost as much as the other kids were.

"Bait for what? Were there big scary animals? Like bears?" asked another boy, whose eyes twinkled with childish enthusiasm.

"Nah, there wasn't anything like that…" He paused for dramatic effect. His story seemed well rehearsed. "We, there _was_ one creature…but you don't want to hear about that. I don't want you getting all scared and crying to the headmaster." He smiled wryly. Suddenly there was a buzz of children shouting.

"No, please tell us!"

"C'mon, we wanna know!"

The boy with Jack's hair shouted, "I'm no cry-baby!" Jack finally gave in, though he had planned to tell his whole story anyway, whether they asked him to or not.

"Okay, okay," he said. Then, his voice lowered in pitch and in volume to add to the suspense. The circle of children grew abruptly quiet. "We called it…the beast!" The crowd gasped again. Then, they were shouting.

"What was it?"

"Did it have—"

"—Claws? Or—"

"—Fangs!"

Jack interjected. "You bet! It had claws _and _fangs!"

"How big was it?" The boys were still shouting.

"I bet it's so big that its head would hit the common room ceiling!"

"Bigger, I bet!"

"It was enormous!" Jack exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air for emphasis. "It had big black eyes and it looked like a gorilla, but bigger! I should know. I saw it! Saw it with my own eyes, I did. From only two feet away. Me and the beast got up close and personal, seeing as I had to fight it." There was another uproar of voices.

"You had to fight it?!"

"Yep," Jack said with a cocky tone. I took that thing down. Put up quite a fight, he did, but I took care of him. And when I was done with him, I put his head on a spike." The boys stared at him with wide eyes.

"No wonder they made you king," said the boy with red hair. None of the other boys would have done that, I'm sure. I bet the old chief wouldn't have even tried."

"He wouldn't, would he?" Jack said. He looked at the red haired boy and said, "You make a good point. What's your name?"

"I'm Charlie. Charlie Cunningham. I could build a tree fort with both hands tied behind my back!" He seemed very proud of this fact.

"We could have used you on Merridew Island." Apparently, Jack had named the island after they left. "You could have built the shelters."

"Nah," Charlie said. "I'd be a hunter. I could have helped you kill that beast. I'd be good at it." He picked up a stick and chased another brown haired boy, yelling battle cries and laughing. The children around him all cheered and watched. Jack, feeling a sense of déjà vu, decided to join in as well.

Mary Bishop clasped her husband's hand as she lie on the hospital bed, her feet in the stirrups. Her vision was blurred with sweat and tears, but she could still see well enough to make out the picture of her son that she clasped between her fingers. Though the photograph was black and gray, it still somehow managed to capture the pure warmth that radiated from his smile. His black hair was shorter and clean back then, and his eyes were full of knowledge. He was a child of purity and innocence. Mary and James Bishop still hoped to someday see their son again, but deep down they knew that he would never come back. They would never again hear his voice or see his face, except for in photographs. The pain she felt for her long lost son almost distracted her from the physical pain she was feeling now.

"Push, Mary!" The doctor shouted. "It's okay. You are doing fine." James squeezed Mary's hand and whispered in her ear, "Hang in there, honey."

"The baby is crowning!" The doctor enthusiastically cried. "Keep going Mary, you are almost there." His voice was sincere and comforting, but not enough to keep Mary from screaming in pain. The fluorescent hospital lighting filled the room with a heavenly glow. James and the doctor continued to console Mary for what seemed like hours, until finally the doctor shouted, "Mary, here comes your son!"

"My son?" Mary tried to say. James put his finger to her lips and said, "Don't speak, honey. Don't strain yourself. He's almost here." A weak smile raised the corners of his mouth, but his eyebrows furrowed with worry. He can't lose another one.

Finally, the doctor held the baby boy in his arms. Strangely, the boy didn't cry. He did not laugh. He just looked the doctor in the eye and stared, like a wise old man with a million stories to tell. The doctor smiled back at the tiny boy and said, "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Bishop. Here is your new baby boy."

"James," Mary sighed. Her eyes were exhausted, but filled with all the love and happiness in the world. Her mouth was fixed into a tiny smile. "James, a boy!" She could barely speak. She looked at her baby, then at her husband, then back at her baby. The tiny boy just stared back into her eyes. The light from the window behind the baby reflected off his hairless head, making it glow with dim yellow sanctity. The eyes of the baby were the eyes of the boy in the photograph. Mary's eyes filled with tears; a mixture of happiness and sadness. She knew then what she would call her child. Although her son was gone, his memory did not have to die with him. She looked her new son in the eyes and said, "Hello, my new baby boy.

"Hello Simon."

. . .

The boys in the schoolyard formed a circle around Charlie and the boy he was chasing. They were all laughing and cheering. All except Jack. He felt strange. He just stood there, watching the act with confusion and regret. Charlie pounced on top of the other boy and put his stick to the boy's throat. Both boys were laughing, and the crowd of bows began to chant. "_Kill the beast! Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"_ Suddenly, Jack's heart skipped a beat. His stomach churned. The words raced through his head, echoing like they had been shouted into an empty cave. For reasons Jack didn't understand, his knees weakened beneath him and he collapsed. His chest rattled with sobs. He didn't know what came over him, but he had to get away. Quickly, he got to his feet and sprinted across the schoolyard and down the street, leaving the circle, the dance, and the all the stories behind him.


End file.
